The Atlantis Gene (The Origin Mystery 1)

The tech carefully cut the straps on Cole’s back vest. He lifted the vest slightly and bent closer to the glass slit in the blast shield for a better look.

Sweat drops popped up across Cole’s already soaked face.

“It’s not booby trapped.” Inch-by-inch, the tech peeled the vest back. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Cole almost jumped when he heard the man throw the vest the rest of the way over. Was there a timer? A backup? He felt the man’s hands work quickly at his spine. Then he felt the gloved hands go limp. He heard the screeching of metal on metal as the tech forcefully slid the blast shield out of the way. He worked with his bare hands now.

Cole felt the man lift the bomb off his spine.

“You can get up now, Cole.”

Cole turned, holding his breath.

The man looked at him with contempt. “Here’s your bomb, Cole. Be careful now, you could be allergic to polyester.” He handed Cole a rolled up T-Shirt.

Cole couldn’t believe it. He was embarrassed, but mostly, he was relieved.

Cole unrolled the t-shirt. It read, in big black magic marker letters: “BOOM!” Below it, in smaller print: “Sorry…”

CHAPTER 39

Batavia Marina

Jakarta, Indonesia

Harto put his arm around his wife and gathered his son and daughter at his side. They stood on the wooden dock at the marina where Harto had retrieved the boat the soldier had told him about. The four of them beheld the machine, no one saying a word. It sparkled. It all still seemed like a dream to Harto. The boat was the most beautiful thing he’d seen since his wife on their wedding day.

“It’s ours,” he said.

“How Harto?”

“The soldier man gave it to me.”

His wife ran a hand along the boat, maybe to see if it was truly real. “It’s almost too nice to fish in.”

The boat was a mini-yacht. At 60 feet, it was capable of travel between the small islands off Java. It could hold up to thirty people above deck and sleep as many as eight below deck in the master stateroom, port guest stateroom, and aft guest stateroom. The upper deck and flybridge would give breathtaking views.

“We’re not going to fish with it,” Harto said. “We’re going to take others fishing. The foreigners living here and the tourists. They pay lots of money for this — to go fishing in the deep sea. And for other things: diving and touring the islands.”

His wife looked from Harto to the boat, then back again, as if trying to assess whether it would work or maybe how much work it would be for her. “You going to finally learn English, Harto?”

“I’ll have to. There aren’t enough fish in the sea to feed all the Jakartan fisherman. Entertainment is the future.”

PART II:

A TIBETAN TAPESTRY

CHAPTER 40

Somewhere off the Java Sea

That night Kate dreamed that she had been kidnapped by her wicked uncle. She had been riding in an iron chariot with a knight and his men. Her uncle had smashed the chariot and killed the men, casting her knight out into the darkness. Her uncle had taken her to his castle and locked her in a dungeon, deep below the castle walls. He prodded her with questions, demanding she reveal her most secret of secrets. She knew if she told him, he would eat her children and become a powerful monster, a monster no one could kill. He told her lies. Then more lies, believable lies. She wanted to believe them, but she resisted. The more he said, the more she questioned. Did he kill her father? Was her whole life a lie?

His men took her from the dungeon into a tower. They strapped her down and gave her a potion, and she felt herself transforming. It was eating her will from the inside out. Just before it took her over completely and she lost the power to resist, the knight kicked in the tower doors and killed her captors. He lifted her up and he flew away, casting fire and death to their pursuers who shot arrows from below. But the castle moat was too wide, and they fell into the treacherous water. She was lost, sinking, but he rescued her again, pulling her from the abyss. His kiss brought her back to life, and she was so happy — happy to be free from her uncle and happy it was the knight who had rescued her.

The knight’s loyal savage friend rowed them far, far away, to a deserted isle with a small cottage. The knight carried her ashore and set her down in a bed of flowers, where the warm wind lulled her to sleep.

Kate awoke to the worst headache of her life. It hurt to move. She lay in the bed for a moment, swallowing several times. Opening her eyes hurt. The sunlight hurt. She turned over, away from the window. The window. The bed. Where was she?

She pushed herself up, and with each inch she moved, the pain spread across her. Her body was sore, but it didn’t feel like the soreness from exercise — she felt like she’d been beaten all over with wooden spoons. She felt sick, hurt. What happened to me?

The room came into focus. A cottage or some kind of vacation home on the beach. The room was small, with one double bed and some rustic wooden furniture. Out the window, she saw a large porch that opened onto a deserted beach — not the pristine, well-kept kind you saw at resorts, but the type you might find on a real deserted island — a rough, unkempt beach, littered with coconuts, tree bark, tropical plants, and here and there, dead fish that had washed up from last night’s violent rain and high tide.

Kate pushed the covers off and moved slowly to get out of bed. A new sensation gripped her: nausea. She waited, hoping it would pass, but it only got worse. She felt the saliva gathering at the back of her throat.

She ran for the bathroom, barely making it in time. She collapsed to her knees and dry heaved into the toilet, once, then again, and a third time. The convulsions sent shock waves of pain through her already ravaged body. The nausea receded, and she rolled off her knees to sit by the toilet, propping an elbow on the toilet seat and resting her hand on her forehead.

“At least you don’t have a walk of shame ahead of you.”

She looked up. It was the man from the van, the soldier. David.

“What are you, where are w—”

“We’ll catch up later. Drink this.”

“No. I’ll just throw it up.”

He bent down to her and tipped the orange concoction toward her. “Give it a try.”

He held the back of her head, and she realized she was drinking it before she could object again. It was sweet and coated her raw throat. She drank it down and he helped her to her feet.

There was something she had to do. What was it? Something she had to get. Her head still pounded.